<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>kerosene (in my hands) by daisyridlevs</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252410">kerosene (in my hands)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyridlevs/pseuds/daisyridlevs'>daisyridlevs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fashion &amp; Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fashion &amp; Couture, Fluff and Angst, Modern AU, Rey (Star Wars) is Nobody, Reylo - Freeform, Smut, ben is a journalist, rey is a model</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:20:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,710</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252410</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyridlevs/pseuds/daisyridlevs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone adored Rey Niima. </p><p>A successful supermodel at the top of her game, she rose to fame seemingly out of thin air. In the span of a year, she went from being a complete nobody to being plastered across every other billboard and magazine cover across the country. Her charming smile and staggering beauty had all of America under a spell.</p><p>Yes, everyone adored her. Except for Ben solo. So when he was given the opportunity to write an article that could reveal a less than desirable side of Rey Niima, he couldn’t resist. </p><p>[modern au, enemies to lovers, journalist! Ben Solo, supermodel! Rey Niima]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rey &amp; Ben Solo, Rey &amp; Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. bite down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi everyone!</p><p>i've been planning this fic for a while, and i'm so excited to finally be posting the first chapter. it's very special to me, and i'm so nervous about posting it...i hope you all love it as much as i do. </p><p>the title of the fic is taken from the song "Cinnamon Girl" by Lana Del Rey, and the fic itself was inspired by "me &amp; ur ghost" by Blackbear. </p><p>enjoy!! xx</p><p>p.s. - i changed my ao3 user from hiimtr_ash to daisyridlevs to match my twitter user :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Everyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>adored</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey Niima. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A successful supermodel at the top of her game, she rose to fame seemingly out of thin air. In the span of a year, she went from being a complete nobody to being plastered across every other billboard and magazine cover across the country. Her charming smile and staggering beauty had all of America under a spell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> adored her. Except for Ben solo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, she was beautiful. She had a magnetism that entranced everyone passing her by, a voice like a bell that drew your attention immediately. But Ben was convinced that there was more to her, things that weren’t so admirable and idyllic, and for some reason he was one of the few people who could see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had watched her in countless TV specials, read hundreds of articles, listened to god knows how many podcasts and radio interviews, and they all echoed the same theme- all Rey Niima ever wanted was fame. When asked what drove her to modeling, her answer was always the same; she didn’t want to be nobody, nothing. No, she wanted to mean something to the world. She wanted to be the name on the tips of everyone’s tongue, the perfect picture of success. Of course, those weren’t her exact words, but in Bens’ opinion it was easily implied from how she spoke about herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And oh, how Ben </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> the power hungry. He couldn’t fathom wanting everyone to know you, or choosing to be front and center when you could lead a normal life. Growing up in a well known family and being born into a spotlight tended to do that to you. Ben had spent most of his life trying to escape the fame of his family of old money socialites, and it had made him bitter towards those who craved what he so desperately tried to hide from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when he was given the opportunity to write an article that could reveal a less than desirable side of Rey Niima, he couldn’t resist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>See, Ben happened to have an acquaintance who worked as a photographer for a popular magazine. About a week ago, said acquaintance had sent him a video of Rey Niima he’d taken on set, and Ben lost his </span>
  <em>
    <span>mind</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he saw it. In the clip, you could see her scoff at an assistant, muttering angrily about something. She was wearing a tight yellow dress, adorned with jewelry that could probably pay his rent for a year. The assistant appeared to shrug, appearing relatively calm as he replied, and handed her a coffee. What Niima said next was the only audible part of their conversation- a loud, biting “fuck you” as she knocked the coffee to the ground and stalked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gold</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew the second he saw it that he had to write a piece on it. His friend agreed, as long as he kept their identity a secret. He had spent hours just thinking up the title alone, followed by several more hours of careful planning. After all, if you’re going to bash one of the biggest models in the industry, you’d better have a solid argument and choose your words carefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally though, after days of non-stop writing, Ben was finally nearly finished with the article.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a sip of his coffee, Ben swallowed quickly before returning to his frantic typing. The time on his laptop read 11:49 PM, dangerously close to his 12:00 AM deadline. It was supposed to have been noon, but he had pushed his editor hard enough that he’d given him 12 more hours of wiggle room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers were cramping, but he kept typing anyways, sighing in relief when he finished the last paragraph. Doing a quick once over, he was satisfied enough and sent it off to the editor. He checked the time again- 11:59 PM. Why was he always barely making his deadlines?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be fair, though, this one in particular he wanted to be really thorough with. It was likely to gain quite a bit of traction in the media, and he wanted it to be as perfect as possible. Any article about Rey Niima got a fair amount of attention, but he had a gut feeling this one had the potential to </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> blow up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After it was all said and done, though, he was extremely proud of what he wrote. He’d stand by it despite any criticism he might receive- and he was sure he’d get quite a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing up and stretching his arms over his head, he groaned tiredly, realizing suddenly how much his eyes hurt. He really needed to find a way to give them a break sometimes, when he spent half his job staring at a screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as he wanted to unwind with some mindless comedy on Netflix, he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to stay awake for more than 10 minutes. Not even bothering to shut his laptop, he sauntered into his bedroom with a yawn, collapsing into bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>____________________________________________________________________________</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, he was in the middle of frying two eggs when his phone went off. Wiping his hands on a towel, he grabbed it and picked up, simultaneously grabbing a spatula and nudging at the eggs gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” The sizzle of his pan died down- it needed more butter. He opened the fridge to grab some, balancing his phone between his ear and his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice on the other end was stern and unfamiliar. “Is this Benjamin Solo?” Ben sliced off a bit of butter with a knife, letting it fall into the pan with a satisfying hiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call me Ben. Who am I speaking to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben,” the man paused for a moment, clearing his throat, “I’m a representative for Rey Niima.” Ben froze, snatching his phone from the crook of his neck and holding it securely to his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. What can I do for you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m calling on behalf of Miss Niima to ask you to take down your most recent article.” Ben’s chest tightened in a strange mix of excitement and trepidation. Was his article already making that much of an impact? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With all due respect to Miss Niima, I haven’t done anything illegal, or even unethical.” A burning smell began to waft from the pan, and he remembered his eggs, cursing silently to himself and sliding them off the burner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are many sides to every story, Mr. Solo.” The man sounded especially tense, and Ben almost felt bad for him. “I’ve been asked to inform you that if you don’t remove the article, Miss Niima may sue for defamation of character.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben snorted, scraping the eggs onto a plate with a spatula. “I’m sorry, but even I know you don’t have legal grounds for that.” An exasperated sigh crackled in his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Ben could say anything, the phone clicked, line going silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Figuring that was the end of that, Ben slipped his phone into his pocket and slid onto a barstool at his kitchen counter, digging into his overdone eggs. He wasn’t worried in the slightest, especially when she couldn’t even bother to contact him herself. She could have as many lawyers call him as she wanted to; nothing could convince him to take his work down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>_________________________________________________________________________</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, a warm white mocha latte in his hand, Ben crossed the street, heading for his apartment complex. He usually made his own coffee, but he had a specific craving for Starbucks and had decided to treat himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so focused on fishing his keys out of his pocket that he didn’t even notice the man standing nonchalantly outside the complex, or the small black car parked by the curb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he approached the door, the man spoke, grabbing his attention. “Benjamin Solo?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s head snapped up, startled. “Uh, yeah? Can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Poe Dameron, we spoke on the phone. I’m here on behalf of Rey Niima.” His hands were clasped tightly in front of him as he took a step towards him. “After our phone call, she asked me to contact you personally; she wishes to speak to you in private.” He wasn’t at all what you would expect a lawyer to look like. His hair was slightly tousled, a five o’clock shadow across his jaw, feet shifting impatiently as he stood there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re joking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I assure you I’m not.” Poe sighed, taking a step forward. “The driver is waiting whenever you’re ready.” He raised a hand and gestured in the direction of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh for fucks sake...” Ben muttered under his breath, flicking his wrist to check his watch. “Does this have to happen right now? This is awfully last minute.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Niima prefers to have this matter resolved as quickly as possible.” Despite the anxious nature of his demeanor, Poe’s voice was surprisingly calm. “It would be in the best interest of everyone involved if you could find the time to speak with her today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s really bothered by this, huh?” Ben rolled his eyes, slipping his keys back into his pocket.  “Fine. I’ll talk to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>____________________________________________________________________________</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben wasn’t sure why he was shocked at the extravagance of Rey Niima’s home. After all, she was a supermodel; what did he expect, a dirty hovel?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he found his lips parting in awe as the car pulled up the long winding driveway, slowing to buzz in at an elaborately welded iron gate. The outside of the house, which would more accurately be described as a mansion, was painted a bright yellow that reminded him of sunflowers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Complemented with decorative white moulding, a large balcony extended out above the front door, the steps to which were a pristine white lined with pristine white gardenias. Poe darted ahead of him, swinging the ornate double doors open and gesturing for him to follow. The foyer was vast and brightly lit, a contemporary electric chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling.The floor was polished marble, their footsteps echoing around them as they clicked against it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crossing the foyer and heading down a hallway, Poe halted to a stop outside a frosted glass door, knocking against it gently. “He’s here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment of silence, her voice rang out, soft, yet clear as day. “Come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe ushered Ben inside, closing the door behind him immediately. Ben’s eyes scanned the space around him, a small cozy sitting room lined with tall ornate bookshelves. Rey Niima stood before a flickering fireplace on the far end of the room, arms crossed tightly. Her hair fell in loose waves to her shoulders, piercing green eyes accented with foiled bronze shadow and a nude lip to match.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Benjamin Solo.” She moved towards him, her steps effortlessly graceful despite the height of her heels. As she walked, the organza of her black Chanel dress swayed gently, brushing against her legs. It fit her perfectly, tightened at the hip by a silk tie, with most of her chest on display through embroidered lace. “I’m surprised you came.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite the opposite, actually.” She frowned, placing a perfectly manicured hand delicately on her hip. “You gave </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> no choice. If you hadn't written that article, neither of us would be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben sighed, breaking eye contact for a moment and shaking his head dismissively. “Miss Niima, I think we both know that nothing published in that article violates the law, neither does it qualify as slander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps not,” she narrowed her eyes, voice low and firm, “But either way, I demand that you take it down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Demand</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Ben snorted, face twisting in amusement. “You can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>demand</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything of me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your article is inflammatory, unnecessary, and…” She swallowed, eyes darting briefly to the floor before meeting his gaze again with even more assertion. “...and misrepresentative of my character.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry you feel that way, Miss Niima, but the article is staying up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gaze drifted from his as she shook her head, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. “What would it take?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would it take,” she spoke softly, words sharp as daggers, “to convince you to take it down?” Her hand slid from her hip, clenching at her side. “I’ll pay you any sum you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bribery?” Ben scoffed, eyes widening in disbelief. He didn’t think she’d sink </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> low. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be bought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her knuckles turned white, eyes burning, as her demeanor hardened. “Very well.” She turned, stalking back to the fireplace, dress swirling behind her and sending wafts of coconut perfume in his direction. Pressing a small button on the mantle, she spoke into what Ben assumed was some kind of intercom.  “Mr. Dameron! Show him out.” The doors swung open behind him immediately, as if he had been waiting just outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben turned, meeting Poe’s gaze and making for the exit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben.” Rey’s voice called out from behind him, cold and biting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” He turned, looking back at her over his shoulder. She still faced the wall, hands wrapped around her sides. He didn’t need to see her face to feel the fire behind her eyes, the anger rolling off of her in waves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t over.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. you only love to hate me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I know it looks bad, Rey, but I’m sure–” Her eyes burned, her chest knotting as she inhaled deeply. </p><p>“It looks bad because it is,” Rey spat, ashamed at the venom behind her words. “I’ve had to turn the comments off on my Instagram, because of the awful things people are commenting. I’ve begun getting hate mail; more than before. My DMs on twitter are full of people telling me I’m trash. Don’t try to tell me this isn’t bad.”</p><p>[modern au, enemies to lovers, angst, slow burn, eventual happy ending]</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi hi hi! long time no see on this one. i hope you all enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I know, I know. I’ve been a shitty friend lately. I’m sorry.” Ben pushed the door open, groaning at the resistance. He’d been telling the landlord it needed to be oiled for years. Phone pinched between his head and his shoulder, he tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Army, I promise we can hang out soon, I’ve just been-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Busy with work? Uh huh.” Armitage Hux’s voice was monotone as he completed Ben’s sentence, laced with a twinge of frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It takes up a lot of time lately. Especially with the new publicity.” Ben cracked his knuckles absentmindedly, tossing his keys back into his pocket as the entrance to the apartment complex snapped shut behind him. The sound was bright, loud, and echoed throughout the lobby. “I didn’t expect the article to blow up like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” Army snorted, the anger from before replaced with amusement. “You knew it was going to be a hit. There’s no way you could dig up dirt on Rey Niima and have it flop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still, I had no idea how intense it would actually get.” Ben unlocked his mailbox, swinging it open and pulling out a thick stack of envelopes. “Jesus, I never used to get this much mail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Literal paper mail?” Ben could practically hear his eyebrows raise through the phone. “Who the hell would bother with that anymore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben chuckled, thumbing through the envelopes as he stepped into the elevator. “Shitty tabloids offering me jobs, mostly. They send emails, too, but I guess they want to cover all their bases.” He furrowed his brows at the last letter in the stack, blank except for his name in bold font across the front. “What the hell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a weird letter,” The elevator dinged, stopping at his floor. He stepped out, heading for his apartment, and his phone beeped, indicating another incoming call– it was his boss. “Shit, I gotta go, it’s Phas. I’ll talk later, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Army sighed, and Ben pictured his nose scrunching the way it always did when he was bothered. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could change his mind out of guilt, Ben accepted the call, hanging up on Army. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Phasma. What’s up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed, no doubt at his informal language– but she’d given up at scolding him for that long ago. “Good afternoon, Ben. I wanted to congratulate you on your article. It’s passed another landmark, it’s gotten an astounding amount of views.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it up to now?” Ben pushed into his apartment, tossing the junk mail and job offers in the trash. He set the strange letter aside on the counter, heading over to his couch and kicking his shoes off. “Wait, no, don’t tell me. Let me look for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” He could practically hear the eye roll in her voice. “Before you’re off to giddily assess your clout, however, I’d like to ask if you could stop in at the office sometime today. I’d like to speak with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben raised an eyebrow, biting the inside of his cheek. That didn’t sound good. “You’re speaking with me right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In person, Ben.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t quite read the tone of her voice, but it still made him uncomfortable. “Alright, what time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be here till 7pm.” In the background, he could hear the soft bubbling of her Keurig pouring out a fresh cup of coffee. “Any time before then is fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I’ll see you soon, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line clicked and went silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying to ignore the small surge of anxiety due to Phasma’s instruction, Ben tossed his phone aside and pulled open his laptop, deciding to check how many hits his article had gotten. Pulling open the analytics tab on the website, he could hardly stop his eyes from bulging out of his head when he saw the number. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~Rey’s POV~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> many hits?” Rey grit her teeth, forcing her tone to remain level. Poe’s hands were clasped tightly in front of him, his brows knit together in displeasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just about a million,” Poe muttered, eyes downcast. “I know it looks bad, Rey, but I’m sure–” Her eyes burned, her chest knotting as she inhaled deeply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It looks bad because it is,” Rey spat, ashamed at the venom behind her words. Despite public appearances for formality's sake, Poe was a dear friend of hers, and had been since childhood. He always had to take the brunt of her frustrations, and though she struggled to control it, she felt terrible about it nonetheless. “I’ve had to turn the comments off on my Instagram, because of the awful things people are commenting. I’ve begun getting hate mail; more than before. My DMs on twitter are full of people telling me I’m trash. Don’t try to tell me this </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, it’s...kinda bad,” Poe let out a small sigh before lifting his eyes to meet her gaze. “But there’s a reason they say any publicity is good publicity, right? I mean, you’re trending on every platform.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span> if I’m fucking trending, Poe!” Rey shouted, clenching her hands into fists at her side. Her long, manicured nails dug into her palms, but she couldn’t have cared less. “Can you just...can you leave me for a bit?” Her voice was strained, but she made a valiant effort to sound gentle. “I don’t want to take this out on you more than I already have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe nodded, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder before turning and leaving her alone in her study. She unclenched her hands as she slumped into her desk chair, and sighed when she noticed the little bloody crescents on her palms, from her nails no doubt.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing at the clock above the door, she noted the time. He should have definitely checked his mail by now. Head leaned back, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, drinking in the silence and waiting for Ben Solo to call. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~Ben’s POV~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No amount of reassurance could convince Ben that he had actually written something that garnered </span>
  <em>
    <span>one million</span>
  </em>
  <span> views. It was absolutely mind blowing to him, and he had refreshed the page at least 20 times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Sure, he got there by writing about a ridiculously famous person, but the article had read guts– it’s not like it was based on pure slander. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing Ben set out to do in his work was hurt people; he just wanted to tell stories. He thought this one had been pretty damn good, and he was right. Though, despite the fact that he would never admit to it, he didn’t really mind that Rey Niima was taking this so personally. He found himself thinking that maybe sometimes, it was okay to knock wealthy, entitled people down a notch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coming down from the high of his latest (and greatest) achievement, he remembered the strange letter he’d gotten in the mail, and retrieved it from the counter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No return address. Huh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He stuck his thumb under the lip of the envelope and tore it open, pulling out a neatly folded letter written in a delicate, looping font.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dearest Benjamin, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve been doing some reading about you. Interesting that you’re the son of the legendary actress Leia Organa; I never would’ve guessed you’d have come from the same blood, given the lack of grace and dignity you possess. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Funny, it seems that you’ve stayed relatively insignificant in the eyes of pop culture, when with a mother like that you could’ve very easily stepped into the spotlight, into fame. Do you like being just another average person? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anyways, I’ve had enough of this ridiculous feud. Keep your article up– the hype will fizzle down soon enough, it always does. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As a show of good faith on my part, I’ve pulled some strings for you, dear Ben. I just happened to be dear friends with someone higher up on the food chain at your place of work– and managed to get you a much more prominent position. Much more...public. And with a lot less writing involved. You’d better develop a taste for the spotlight, Ben– it’ll be hard to stay out of it now that you’re the head of the entire public relations department. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>– Rey Niima</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>P.s. My number is 332-445-5384. If you have any qualms with me, you might as well contact me directly, since you can’t funnel it into your silly little articles anymore. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Furious, Ben let the letter fall to the counter as his jaw tightened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What a fucking bitch. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With that position, he’d be noticed. He’d be pestered. He’d be Leia Organa’s son, stepping back into the public eye. Rey Niima’s ability to get under his skin would be impressive if it wasn’t completely enranging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands still shaking, he picked up his phone, dialing her number. She picked up instantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Ben. We need to fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i hope you liked it! leave a comment xx</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so what did you think?! leave a comment :) xx</p><p>follow me on twitter @daisyridlevs !</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>